Yes
by WhisperMaw
Summary: I'd seen a picture of him once or twice...


AN: Wow I feel like such a part of this fandom…and ya'll are gonna hate me for this one but I can't help it. I ship them. Hard. Bromance. Don't like it… well read it anyways…I think it's pretty epic…the idea not my actual writing lol.

I'd seen a picture of him once or twice. He had sandy blonde hair and a dimply smile. In the photo he had obviously not yet lost his baby fat. I figured he must've gotten a lot older since then because the boy I saw walking up and down the hallways had a chiseled face, broad shoulders, and defined arms. His eyes were green and they glistened with threatening tears. I could see him trying to bite them back. I wanted to say something to him but I was scared. He'd been with them. What if he was like Rick? What if he hated me? Why did I care anyways? I shook off the feeling that had been creeping up from my toes. It had managed to reach my empty stomach before I turned away from him.

During lunches and dinners I found my eyes wandering to where the Mason family sat. I would try to stop myself but I knew the attempts were futile. I was drawn to him. There must be something wrong. He's doing something to me. It's all him. This isn't my fault. No, I'll just have to stay away from him. So I forced myself to stare at the select few girls that were my age of the 2nd Mass. None of them were that good. They were all greasy-haired and in desperate needs of showers. It's not like it was there fault but I still found it repulsing.

Two weeks after he came I started to isolate myself. No one was worth my time. If I just ignored the world I wouldn't feel anything. I could numb the wrongness. It would go away if I stayed away. It was starting to work. But God really must hate me. When I had finally purged myself of it he decided to talk to me. His voice cracked sometimes and his words were always clipped. It was a nervous sort of talk, the way Ben Mason spoke but I still listened to every word he said. I didn't want to but I couldn't help myself. I lashed out at him. My own voice cracked like a whip and told him to scatter. It was out of my own cowardice that I did so. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't afraid. I needed to know that I wasn't going to crumble and fall apart under the weight of the events that had come to pass. I threw myself into danger. I convinced Weaver to put me back into service. He did. I only proved to be more of a frightened little boy than I thought.

We were sent away together. I tried to stay as far away as I could. But no matter how many other children I put between us I could still hear is heartbeat. It set my own sky rocketing. What would my dad think of me? His only son…reduced to this folly. Maybe it was a phase.

Soccer, it was just what I needed. The perfect distraction, it was. Before the invasion I'd been the starting forward for the U13 State of Massachusetts All-Star team. I was good at it. The ball felt good clicking up against my instep. The wind rustled through my over-grown brown hair and I closed my eyes for a moment. A memory flashed into my head:

Mud was flying up against my bare knees as I sprinted past the midfielders. The ball was gliding through the water logged field. Defenders were closing in on me. Vaguely I heard my mom shouting in her high pitched, tinkering voice for me to shoot. I wasn't close enough, not yet. I glanced to my left hoping that my teammates would've caught up with me by then. I spun around the sweeper and looked to my right. My little sister, Merissa was running up the sideline, following me. I kicked the ball a couple steps in front of me, planted my left foot and brought my right leg back. My arms were extended out like wings as I brought forward my pointed foot forward like a pendulum. There was a satisfying _thump_ when the laces of my cleats made contact with the ball. My eyes followed the black and white flash past the goalie as it buried itself into the upper right hand corner of the goal. I had scored.

"Jimmy!" The memory had vanished as quickly as it had come. It was him. He was calling _my_ name. Half of me desperately wanted to respond but I knew that if I did it would make the strange emotion in the pit of my stomach real. I couldn't let that happen.

He continued to shout my name. My heart skipped a beat every time he did but I had to pretend I couldn't hear. His brothers noticed. He noticed. They all took it the wrong way and I couldn't blame them. They thought it was because of the spikes in his back. It wasn't though. None of them could ever know the real reason.

The people we were staying with are traitors. They were trying to trade us to the Skitters. Ricks dad died trying to protect us and Rick was a distant as he ever was. We ran for as long as the younger ones could manage before breaking into a beautiful, large, gray stone mansion surrounded by towering oak trees that casted the house in shade.

Ben and I ended up alone in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It was the worst situations I could have imagined. I don't even know how it happened but it did. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity; me on the bed and him on the floor. I was sitting on my hands and biting my chapped bottom lip.

"Why do you hate me?" Ben asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"I…I don't hate you," I tensed and curled my toes as I felt a strong tug in the pit of my stomach.

"Then why—" Ben began.

"Look, I just…I feel weird around you," I said, cutting him off.

"Weird?" Ben looked up at me from the floor. His sea-foam eyes were narrowed quizzically.

"Yeah," my heart was pounding and I shifted my weight uneasily.

Ben got up from the floor and sat uncomfortably close to me. I removed my hands as I scooted away from Ben's warmth and towards the honey colored wood of the headboard. He put his own calloused hands onto the bed and eased it closer and closer to my own until his pinky finger was lying on top of mine. I felt a rosy flush flood over my cheeks as I snatched my hand away. Ben's own fair, wind-burned face blushed and he looked down at the hard-wood floor.

"Oh, I just thought…" he trailed of awkwardly.

"No," I said quickly; too quickly. Ben looked up at me; studying me. I brought my palm to my face and immediately felt my skin heating as I turned an even deeper shade of pink.

"Yeah, I know," he said dejectedly.

"No, I mean, yes," words were tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. What was I doing? Was I really admitting to this?

"Yes?" his eyes lit up.

As if it were at its own accord I felt my head nodding up and down and my mouth spoke a word that sounded surprisingly final and shockingly confident. "Yes."

With that Ben leaned toward me and I felt the rough warmth of his lips planting themselves delicately on mine. I didn't pull away.

People think that Ben saving the kids from Clayton is what lessened my hatred and brought us closer. They're incredibly wrong. I never hated Ben and we're much closer than they think. I don't need to see pictures of Benjamin Mason anymore. He's right beside me, always.


End file.
